


Something More (beneath this water)

by isuilde



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Unrepentant Fluff, basically kind of like missing scenes from the event idk, happy omitsuzu day, set in 2019 bathhouse event
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:55:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23261317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isuilde/pseuds/isuilde
Summary: Soak to Your Shoulders♪Veludo Baths Event Script: Missing Scenes (Fushimi Omi & Minagi Tsuzuru)“Mm-hmm. You know how I’ve been going around asking everyone about their bathhouse memories? Takato-san said he went with Furuichi-san and heard interesting stories from him.”The white, almost transparent smoke from the hot water dances over Tsuzuru’s face. Omi wonders if Tsuzuru knows it makes the color of his eyes a few shades lighter. “Interesting stories?”
Relationships: Fushimi Omi/Minagi Tsuzuru
Comments: 6
Kudos: 54





	Something More (beneath this water)

**Author's Note:**

> Happy OmiTsuzu Day aka March 22, and have plotless fluff!

**Act I-1: “Yeah, the soccer club comes here after practice. The bath in the dorm is fine, but it’s nice to come here sometimes.”**

“Nnn... aaahhh, so good...”

The sound that Tsuzuru makes when he submerges into the hot water across from Omi is obscene. Omi’s glad his face is already red from the heat, otherwise Tasuku, who’s sitting by his side in this hot bath, might have asked him what’s wrong.

It seems that Tsuzuru’s obscene sigh was only affecting him though, because Azami, one foot over the rim of the bath, stares at Tsuzuru disapprovingly. “Tsuzuru-san, please don’t say things like Shitty Sakyo would.”

Tsuzuru tilts his head backwards to catch sight of the younger boy. “Like Furuichi-san?”

Azami shrugs. “Like an old man.”

“Hey!” Tsuzuru’s protest is drowned under the slight splash of water as Azami finally gets in the bath. “I’m not that old yet!”

Tasuku laughs. “You did sound a bit like an old man earlier. Maybe it’s that saying. Old at heart?”

There’s no telling if the warm shade of red on Tsuzuru’s cheeks is from the heat or embarrassment, but Omi quite likes the tiny, mock-offended huff he makes. “Anyone would make the same noise if they get in the hot bath after an exhausting day, so please give me a break.”

Azami eyes him critically. “Then please stop staying up so late every day. Those eyebags look horrible, and honestly, _your skin_. I’ve been noticing how dry your elbows are every time we get off the bath—“

Tasuku and Omi exchange light glances, amused, as Azami continues his diatribe of how Tsuzuru needs to take better care of his skin. Azami probably wouldn’t appreciate being told that his way of delivering these diatribes are the exact same way Sakyo would say his. Besides, it’s nice to see the normally quiet boy forgetting his reservation with words for once.

Tasuku eventually intervenes with the topic of their strategy for their next futsal match. The day for semifinal is drawing closer, and with the bathhouse collaboration play being decided last week, they wouldn’t have that much time to practice or have strategy meetings. In a way, the bathhouse gets turned into their emergency quick meeting place, at least until one of them gets too hot and needs to get out.

Usually, it’s Azami. This time, however, it’s Tasuku.

“I promised to meet my brother for dinner,” Tasuku says by way of explanation as he rises to his feet. “It’s been a while, so I figured might as well. You coming, Izumida?”

“Ah, yeah. I have somewhere to go too.” Azami rises, nearly loses his balance when he does, but Tsuzuru’s hand on his back manages to keep him on his feet. “Thanks, Tsuzuru-san. Are you two—“

“I think I’ll stay a bit longer,” Tsuzuru says, and Omi, almost immediately, adds, “Me, too. You two go on ahead.”

“Okay then,” Azami shrugs. He turns and leaves the bath with a quieter splash than when he got in, his own pitter-patter sounds of wet feet on tiles following Tasuku’s. Omi watches him catch up with the older guy by the rinsing area, decides that they’re far away enough, and turns to Tsuzuru with a smile.

Tsuzuru meets his gaze somewhat warily. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Omi hums, and watches the shade of red on Tsuzuru’s cheeks darken as their fingers tangle—two knuckles, and then three, and then Omi laces them together and holds Tsuzuru’s hand properly under the water. The water sways gently in the space between their shoulders, amused by the secret it holds.

Far over by the area towards the exit to the changing room, Azami’s yelp echoes, followed by Tasuku’s chuckle drifting in the air. 

“Tasuku-san, what—stop it!”

“If you don’t dry your hair properly you’ll catch a cold.”

“I know—seriously, I can do it myself, what’s gotten into you?! Stop toweling my head!”

“Hahaha, sorry, sorry. My brother used to do it a lot to me, too, way back.”

The rest of the conversation disappears as the two close the sliding door to the changing room. By Omi’s side, Tsuzuru chuckles a laugh that sounds like it’s been tickling his throat for a while. “I guess Furuichi-san told Takato-san about that, too.”

“Sakyo-san?”

“Mm-hmm. You know how I’ve been going around asking everyone about their bathhouse memories? Takato-san said he went with Furuichi-san and heard interesting stories from him.”

The white, almost transparent smoke from the hot water dances over Tsuzuru’s face. Omi wonders if Tsuzuru knows it makes the color of his eyes a few shades lighter. “Interesting stories?”

“He used to bring Azami to the bathhouse, and Azami would be running around before drying himself properly. He always got mad when Furuichi-san tried to towel his hair dry.” Tsuzuru ducks his head, submerging himself up to his chin, eyes closing, but the fond smile playing on his lips is a familiar one that Omi recognizes—a touch of nostalgia, as if the story is his own, as if he knows it by heart, as if he’s had that happened to him, too.

It makes Omi smile in the same exact way, because he remembers how it felt—the fabric under his hand, Aki’s wet hair fluffed to dry underneath, the way his younger brother would shove him away and tell him to stop.

“So which one was the worst? Subaru? Takeru?”

The peals of laughter falling from Tsuzuru’s lips ripple the water, tickling the surface. “Kaoru, actually.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have thought.”

“When he was a child he wanted to do everything himself, and he always thought he’d done it properly. I had to drag him back and towel his hair every single time. He’d sulk afterwards; sometimes actually lecturing me on how I need to trust him to take care of himself.”

Omi chuckles. “Sounds like Kaoru.”

“Right?” the water splashes slightly as Tsuzuru pulls his feet up and places his chin on his knees. The corner of Omi’s gaze catches him tilting his head, peering up to look at Omi, the now familiar searching look on his face. “What about you, Fushimi-san?”

“Me?”

“You haven’t told me your bathhouse memories yet.”

Omi hums, for a moment letting himself lost in memories so trivial sometimes they’re almost lost. Racing their way to the bathhouse, making sure his brothers put their stuff properly in the basket before going into the baths, making water towel baloons and stopping his brothers from splashing at each other—though sometimes he relented and ended up joining them himself. And after the bath—

“We’d have a drinking race after the bath,” Omi says, finally choosing a memory that tugs up the corners of his lips into an amused, fond curve. “Aki almost always won, but there was this time when I faked choking and those two stopped drinking out of concern. I won that one.”

Tsuzuru’s laughter echoes amidst the haze of hot water. Omi wants to touch the crinkles on the corners of his eyes, wants to trace the dampness on Tsuzuru’s cheek down to his lips, but he doesn’t want to let go of Tsuzuru’s hands either. Besides, from the way Tsuzuru’s laugh ends in a thoughtful hum, Omi can already see the gears in Tsuzuru’s head turn.

What sort of role would you give me this time, Omi wonders, what sort of world would you let me live in, this time?

**——-o0o——-**

**Act III-2: “Seems like Tsuzuru-kun’s doing well with the script.” “Yeah, I heard he went around asking everyone’s memories of bathhouses. I’ll bring night snacks over to his room later.”**

It’s Thursday, so Tsuzuru has the third period free. Omi finds him in the common study room in the library not with a laptop open, but with an opened notebook and some colorful sticky notes as well as the now familiar flyer of the bathhouse they usually go to after soccer practice.

For once, before he can open his mouth and call Tsuzuru’s name, his boyfriend looks up and notices him coming. It’s endearing, the way Tsuzuru’s face breaks into a smile, and the way he mouths _Fushimi-san_ before waving Omi over. Omi hesitates between going to sit across from Tsuzuru or next to him for a second, but then remembers Tsuzuru’s side profile and the firm curve of Tsuzuru’s jaw, and goes for the chair next to Tsuzuru’s instead.

“Writing the script for the bathhouse play?” he asks by way of greeting as he takes the seat. Tsuzuru hums, tapping the pen in his fingers against the notebook.

“Just brainstorming and mapping. I had everyone tell me their bathhouse memories, and I think I can make up something interesting.”

“Your stories are always interesting, though.”

“Ahaha. Thank you, that makes me really happy coming from you, Fushimi-san.”

Now that he’s sitting down next to Tsuzuru, Omi can see the rows and rows of Tsuzuru’s neat handwriting filling out the pages. There are sticky notes with character names separating the rows into sections, and lists of short description of their personality underneath it. The margin lines are filled with afterthought notes, arrows connecting the sticky notes, asterisks with hastily scribbled reminders that probably only makes sense to Tsuzuru. Around the bottom are paragraphs detailing ideas, and Omi sees the names of their company members written there.

Tsuzuru notices him looking, obviously. “What is it?”

Omi shakes his head. “Nothing,” he smiles, places the camera hanging over his chest carefully on the table. “Usually when I see you working on a script, it’s either you typing furiously or staring unblinking at your laptop. Or taking notes while surrounded with stacks of books.”

Tsuzuru tilts his head. “Sure, that’s... the bulk of writing a script, I guess.”

“It’s rare to see you working at this stage of writing. It’s interesting.” Omi leans sideways until their shoulders knock together. Tsuzuru’s ear is red—that’s cute. “Can’t wait to see what kind of story it’ll be. No pressure.”

Tsuzuru knocks their shoulders back again. The shade of red is spreading over his cheeks. “That’s just making it harder, sheesh.”

Omi laughs. “I’m sure it’s nothing for our esteemed playwright.” He leans in again, and this time Tsuzuru doesn’t push him away. “When it comes to bathhouse experience, a lot of people probably have similar ones, huh? Like making water baloons with a towel.”

“Yeah,” Tsuzuru points at one paragraph detailing one of the ideas—it says _making water balloons with his brother_ , and Tasuku’s name is written on top of it, as are Kumon and Juuza’s. “That, or slapping at each other with towels.”

“Oh, that’s nostalgic,” their heads knock gently—Omi’s shoulder is now pressing against Tsuzuru’s and he’s probably placing half of his weight on Tsuzuru now, but his boyfriend doesn’t seem to mind. “My brothers used to get so rowdy doing that and got yelled by the old man who’s already in the bath. I had to apologize.”

He feels Tsuzuru’s body shakes with laughter even before it escapes Tsuzuru’s mouth quietly. “My older brothers used to do that. Whoever yelp first has to treat the other coffee milk after a bath.”

“Oh? Was coffee milk the staple drink after bath for Minagi family? Ours was strawberry milk.”

“Huh, really? Hard to imagine that, with Fushimi-san’s posture. Your brothers are pretty big too, right?”

Omi hums. “We all like sweets though. Coffee milk is good too, of course, but strawberry milk just hits differently.”

“I don’t know,” Tsuzuru chuckles. “I think I like coffee milk better. Also, last time when we go to the bathhouse, didn’t you go for coffee milk as well, Fushimi-san?”

“Did I? Hmmm, I don’t remember doing that...”

“Playing the fool won’t work on me, you know.”

He watches the pen in Tsuzuru’s fingers turning round and round, rotating clockwise before hitting Tsuzuru’s thumb, pausing for a second until Tsuzuru flips and turns it round again. Ah, he wants to reach for those fingers and runs his thumb over them, feeling each callouse and pads and curve of the bones. Wants to let them roam and touch him, press them against his skin, let them map his body the way they map the stories in Tsuzuru’s head, let them carve prints and dig their nails on his back—

Omi blinks. Shakes his head for a second, and wonders if he’s pent up.

“Fushimi-san?” Tsuzuru says, the lilt of his name questioning. “What’s wrong?”

Those fingers are curling around the pen, slowly and gently, and Omi gives up. He reaches for them, catches Tsuzuru’s forefinger with his own, and holds on despite the small noise of surprise coming from his boyfriend. “Fushimi-san—someone will see—“

“It’ll be a while before you finish the script, right?” Omi cuts in, the words quiet and low, and Tsuzuru blinks. “Do you have time after fourth period?”

“...I... yes? I’m done after fourth period.”

Omi smiles. “Good. I’ll book the hotel room so meet me by the gates.”

The shade of deep red that colors Tsuzuru’s face is fascinating, but the way Tsuzuru opens and closes and opens his mouth again without any word coming out and finally settling for a vigorous nod is kind of hilarious. Omi chuckles, ruffles Tsuzuru’s hair before standing up and leave.

They get back to the dorm way after dinner that night, but that’s okay. They eat the curry leftovers set aside in the refrigerator by Director and Tsuzuru steals a kiss good night before going back to his room. 

Omi thinks that should keep him going for the few days Tsuzuru will be cooped up in his room with the script.

——-o0o——-

**ACT 5-3: “Would you mind accompanying me around this town?”**

When he resurfaces from stringing words and weaving stories, the blinking digital clock on the corner of his table says he’s already lost six hours.

It’s three in the morning. Tsuzuru stares at the last part of the script on his screen, weighing whether he should leave it here now or if he should power through the last spurt and finish it so he can just die tomorrow. Masumi would probably drag him away from the laptop and make him sleep if he’s still at it by six in the morning anyway, so he might as well try and finish it before then. His eyes are fighting a losing battle against sleep though, so maybe he should get some coffee from the kitchen first.

Except when he reaches for the mug by his elbow, it’s not empty. It’s already filled with coffee—cold, by now, but Tsuzuru’s used to just downing gross cold coffee anyway—and there’s a plate of sandwich just off to the side. He vaguely remembers Masumi feeding him dinner tonight, so this is probably a late night snack, which means—

There it is. A note underneath the plate, words neatly scribbled in Omi’s familiar handwriting: _Good work. Eat this before you get more coffee. Also, I’m going on a date tomorrow with Misumi-san._

“Huh...?” Tsuzuru tilts his head as he takes a bite of the sandwich. Cheese bursts in his mouth, and he takes a moment to pause and sighs in appreciation. Whatever Omi makes always taste good, but there’s something about this being a late night snack that makes it twice as delicious. No wonder Itaru keeps hounding Omi to supply him with late night snacks instead of getting them from the convenience store.

He folds the note carefully and places it in the small box under the clock. He should buy a bigger box soon—it’s going to overflow with notes at this point.

**——-o0o——-**

**ACT VII-4: “Speaking of which, what about your photo exhibition, Fushimi?” “Ah, they’re setting it up at the lobby.”**

The play is a success. He’s heard Sakyo saying so after the first day, but considering it’s the third day and people are still flocking to watch it, Tsuzuru thinks it’s more of a success than they had expected. 

There’s the now familiar satisfaction that fills his chest until it tightens and locks up his throat, when he sees his characters and story came into life—in Omi’s confident laughter, in Juuza’s wide swing of an arm, in Kumon’s hesitant gestures as he moves across the floor. A simple story, one that is close to everyone’s life and heart, one that reminds them of things bathhouses give them as they grow up. One born out of personal and yet collective memories, because that’s what humans are, and Tsuzuru only tried to capture one part of it.

Still, it was satisfying, and the echoes of the audience’s applause along with the smiles of his friends as they bow for the curtain call are rewards enough.

He bumps into the Director when he makes his way out of the bathing area after the play. She looks surprised for a second, but brightens right away. “Tsuzuru-kun, you made it! Omi-kun said you weren’t sure if you can skip your part-time job and come.”

Tsuzuru grins. “It’s been a busy month at the shop, but I’ll hate myself if I miss this. Doing a play in a bathhouse isn’t something we normally see, so. Ah,” he raises the paper bag in his hand and offers it to the Director. “Here’s something for everyone to eat.”

The Director happily takes the bag and peeks in. “Oh, cream puffs! Is this from the store that just opened up by the station? Juuza-kun said the lines for it was terrible...”

“A friend got it for me in exchange for the next Spring Troupe’s play ticket. Chikage-san’s big fan.”

“Really? Thank you so much then, I’m sure everyone will be happy!” She carefully tucks the script in her hand under her arm to make sure she doesn’t jostle the bag around. “Have you seen Omi-kun’s exhibition downstairs?”

He kind of did, when he went into the bathhouse, but there hadn’t been time to actually take a look properly. Omi did tell him that Misumi took him around places in the town that most people probably don’t realize it exists, and he wonders what sort of places Omi manages to capture in those pictures. “I’m about to go see it now, actually. It was almost time for the play to start when I got here, so...”

“I think you’ll like it,” the Director’s smile softens. “When I saw the exhibition for the first time, I remembered what I felt when I I read your script for the play.”

Tsuzuru blinks in confusion. “Huh?”

“Everything in the script was something close to our lives. Going to the bathhouse, talking about our problems while we’re at it, fooling around with family and friends. But we take them for granted and don’t really realize how important and beloved these memories are. Omi-kun’s pictures in the lobby are the same, too. Places close to our lives that we probably pass everyday, but never take notice of. And yet, they’re important and pretty in their own way. Some of them hold our memories. As people, as a community. It’s nice to be reminded of it.”

She glances up at Tsuzuru and grins. “So I think you’ll love it, Tsuzuru-kun.”

He does love it. There’s always something about Omi’s pictures that ensnares him, that seem to speak of stories and rouses the playwright in him when he sees them, and these are no different. Veludo Town, within Omi’s pictures, seem to hold secrets in these corners of the town that Omi managed to capture, and looks more brilliant for it.

The hiding space under the big tree behind the station. Tsuzuru wonders how many kids had slipped in there in attempts to hide—from their friends, family, or the world. The field where the cats nap on top of one another. How many kittens had been born there, and how many had left? The blinding sunset from the roof of the oldest theatre at the far end of the town. How many people had gone up there, perhaps hand-in-hand with another, and look down at the bustling town and wonder why everything feels smaller?

_The quiet, empty alleyway that opens up to the main road, where the other end leads to the back entrance of the supermarket, and a lone vending machine stands guard, bathed in the brilliant orange rays of the sunset._

_“We should head back soon,” Omi tells him, but when he hands the bottled tea from the vending machine to Tsuzuru, he catches Tsuzuru’s fingers and doesn’t let go._

_“Fushimi-san,” Tsuzuru says, the last syllable nearly gets caught in his throat because the shade of Omi’s eyes under the setting sunrays is breathtakingly beautiful. His breath, when it falls on Tsuzuru’s nose, is warm and gentle._

_“Tsuzuru,” his name, a whisper in the wind, and Omi’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks as their lips hesitantly meet for their first kiss._

He hears Omi chuckle around his name, and for a moment, Tsuzuru can’t tell if it’s part of his memories or if it’s reality, until a hand gently ruffles his hair. He yelps, whirls around and looks up at Omi, now dressed in the bathhouse employee uniform, with a hand over his mouth as he laughs, eyes dancing in mirth.

“Fushimi-san—“

“Your face is really red.”

“......whose fault do you think it is?!”

Omi’s laughter tinkles like summer chimes, clear and free and so happy, and Tsuzuru has to shove his hands into the pockets of his jacket so he doesn’t reach out to pull Omi closer and bury himself in Omi’s arms.

**——-o0o——-**

**ACT X-2: “We hereby announce the Inter-Troupe Milk-Drinking Competition!”**

His nose kind of hurts from spouting the strawberry milk. 

Tsuzuru cares about that more that the embarrassment of accidentally spouting the milk from his nose and the endless teasing he’s getting from Itaru and Citron about it. At least they have the heart to go fetch him tissues to clean up his mess. He feels kind of bad for failing the Spring Troupe in this silly milk-drinking competition, but then again, he thinks no one seriously expected him to win, so he shouldn’t think about it too much.

There’s still about a quarter of strawberry milk left in the bottle he’d tried to down in one go and failed. Juuza is looking at it with such a single-minded focus that Tsuzuru is beginning to feel bad for not just shoving the bottle at Juuza right this second. He lets Sakuya take away the dirty tissues before taking the bottle of strawberry milk and turning to Juuza with an amused sigh, holding out the bottle to the younger boy.

The way Juuza perks and brightens up is actually adorable. “Oh, can I really?”

Tsuzuru laughs. “I snorted half of it up my nose, I really don’t want to drink more right now.”

“Well then,” Juuza takes the bottle of milk, looking like a kid on Christmas morning. “Thanks a lot, Tsuzuru-san.”

And there he goes, downing the sweet strawberry milk in one go like it’s air. Tsuzuru shakes his head and laughs under his breath before turning away towards where he had left his bag. It’s about time they all head out back to the dorm—the bathhouse may be closed for public as an appreciative gesture to Mankai Company members tonight, but that doesn’t mean they should stay too long. Tsuzuru bets the old owner would appreciate an early night.

He bends down to grab his bag, except a familiar hand reaches out and grabs his own before he can get to his bag. Tsuzuru doesn’t really need to look up to know whose hand it is, but he does anyway, eyebrows rising in confusion and the syllables of his boyfriend’s name on the tip of his tongue: “Fushimi-sa—“

And it’s stolen along with his breath with a kiss.

Not a peck, either. Omi’s tongue sweeps over his own, tangling playfully for a second before running over the roof of his mouth almost tantalizingly. It was brief, barely five seconds before Omi lets him go and steps back, the tip of his tongue swiping his lower lip and sticking out the corner of his mouth as he does so and his smile is infuriatingly gentle.

Tsuzuru’s face goes aflame.

“Wha—“

“As I thought,” Omi says, leaning in close and sounding so thoughtful, “strawberry milk just hits differently.”

Tsuzuru splutters. “Fushimi-san!”

Omi breaks into peals of laughter, the bright one that Tsuzuru loves, and that’s honestly unfair because Tsuzuru can’t not forgive him when he sounds like that. So instead he grabs his bag and gently smacks it against Omi’s leg, pretending not to hear Kazunari hooting at them from the bathhouse entrance.

Next time the soccer club goes to the bathhouse after practice, he needs to make sure to buy and drink coffee milk and prove to Omi that coffee milk is superior.

**——-o0o——-**

**Author's Note:**

> March 22=03/22=“o”, “mi”, “two (tsu)”, “two (dzu)”


End file.
